


Heart of the Wolf

by HappilyUnconventional34



Series: Heart of the Wolf [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, I gotta do everything in this house, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Arthur Morgan, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyUnconventional34/pseuds/HappilyUnconventional34
Summary: There's tales of a monster that runs with Dutch van Der Linde. One that wears the skin of a man and kills at his Master's command.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Series: Heart of the Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097279
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Heart of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you have to write the werewolf Arthur AU you want to see in the world.

By the time they reach the Mountain, they’re splintered. Fractured.

Missing John. Mac. Sean.

The job was a bust. They were chased away.

The hunter became the hunted.

It sets Arthur's teeth on edge. He’s a predator not prey. Him running away goes against the essence of his very being.

But for the safety of his pack he’ll swallow his pride.

They make it to safety.

Well, most of them.

Davey doesn't. Jenny doesn't. They can’t be sure of Mac and Sean who were left behind.

The urge is there, stuck in the back of his throat, the howl building up in his chest, begging to be let free.

But there is no time for sorrow. Not now when so many need protecting.

Jenny. Davy. He’ll mourn the fallen members when he has time.

For now, he’ll protect those who are still living.

His pack.

They find a den. It is enough to keep them safe for now. He tries not to fidget at the thought of letting them settle without marking the territory.   
  


They'll be time for that later as well.

Micah, the outsider, finds a homestead.

Outside, they find O'driscolls.

_Enemies_.

Inside, they find a widow.

_Pack_.

Arthur handles the frightened woman with a tenderness he hadn’t spared for the O'driscoll pup they caught.

He sees Dutch raise a brow at his actions, his eyes darting over to Micah and Arthur bristles, hoping for all their sakes that Dutch don't start that old argument again.

Not when Jenny and Davey are still so raw. Not when Micah’s rancid scent mixes with the smell of blood in the air.

And the urge is so close to the surface.

If Dutch pushes him, they’ll be down another member that night.

Thankfully, Dutch drops it before it can begin.

Arthur doesn’t know if he’s grateful or disappointed.

———-

Come the morning, John still ain’t back.

Abigail comes to him with Jack tagging along, little hand clutching at her skirt.

Conniving woman. She knows instinct won’t allow him to refuse her with a pup so close.

Not that he’d refuse for long.

John is still pack, would always be pack, but the bond that they grew as brothers, the natural bond not driven by instinct, is gone.

He’ll still go find the fool of course. Ain’t no one else dying if he can stop it.

He intends to go alone. He’s all he’d need to track the fool. Dutch insists Javier tag along for extra support.

At least that’s the excuse he gave him.

Arthur’s thick but he ain’t dumb. He’s also a bit insulted.

He can’t say the urge to roam in all this beautiful nature ain’t hit him the second he took a second to appreciate it. The desire to run wild through the snow is a niggling present ever in the back of his head but he ain’t no where near fool enough to indulge it after all that’s happened.

Still, he accepts Javier's company without a fuss. 

He did smell rather nice.

——————

The trail of blood is thick in the air. It hit Arthur like a rock in the face.

John’s blood.

Someone had hurt his pack.

Arthur would make them _bleed_.

They find John easy enough thanks to Arthur. He’s scratched up and a whole sight uglier but he’s alive.

And he reeks!

It takes all that Arthur is not to toss John off of him at the stink of wolf on him. It must be where he got them scratches from.

He’d have to fix that later.

The very same pack of wolves have the nerve to attack them on the way back.

The rival pack that had hurt his pack now impeded his mission to find aid. To protect.

Javier screams at his back as he stops his horse, dismounts, walks towards the wolves...

And snarls.

It’s a mild thing, nowhere near close to what he could do if he was really feeling feral.

If the beast was really close to the edge.

It does the job, however. The rival pack scurries away, ears down and tails tucked tight between their legs.

No matter how closely related, there’s a difference between a wolf and a beast.

Instinct counts for something.

Javier's eyes do not leave him as he calmly hops back on his horse. They continue the uneventful ride back in complete silence.

——————

His blood boils and his teeth ache as they near the O'Driscoll den.

He’s pushing it, at this point.

The stress of losing members and not having time to properly mourn, the pressure of keeping his pack safe, the urge to experience the boundless land around him and the disgusting scent of Micah so close to him.

It all results in a pressure that is painful as it pushes against his skin.

Words have long since devolved into growls. Canines caress his soft lower lip. Claws, once nails, dig deep into his palms.

He needs to set it free.

The horses refuse to settle, unsettled by Arthur’s mood. They abandon them a little ways back. They leave a sour-faced Micah with them to keep watch. Micah takes one look at Arthur and knows better than to complain.

It’s as clear of a sign as any. The beast does not like Micah so Micah can not be near the beast. Arthur knows what Dutch intends to do. What he intends to let Arthur do.

His blood sings at what is to come.

  
  


Dutch keeps a tight hold of his arm as they near. It’s more for formality’s sake than anything. A grounding anchor.

They both know he could break his hold with absolutely no effort.

He’s vibrating in excitement at the scent of the enemy on the wind, soft eager grunts permeate the tense silence that settles among the others.

He knows he’s scaring them and he understands the fear, but they are pack. They should not fear his wrath.

The den housing the O'Driscoll peaks over the horizon when they stop. Grunts have turned into low growls. He senses fear from his right (Javier, Bill) and excitement to his left (Charles?)

Dutch leans in close to his ear, his grip loosening.

“Tear them vermin apart, son. Each and every one.”

And then he lets him go.

Arthur uses the last vestiges of sense to shed his jacket. It was his favorite and very comfortable. He’d hate to lose it.

And then he is no longer man.

He is only a beast.

The wind roars in his ear, the snow gives way beneath his paws. He barrels down the slope, a being of blood and death.

The O'driscoll have no idea what hits them.

The first one goes down, his throat torn open before he draws in the breath to scream. Two more quickly followed, felled by razor sharp claws.

The spicy scent of blood makes Arthur’s body sing.

It was when the fifth O'Driscoll falls, choking on his own blood, his stomach a foot away, that the fools finally break out of their terror and begin to fire.

Bullets pierce his flank, his legs, clip a chunk off his ear. It does not stop him. He offers no pause to the slaughter, no respite to the condemned.

He pays his injuries no mind. They’d heal by the morning.

Four more fall before they see they now fight a losing battle. Three fall to their knees in submission, dropping their weapons, begging for mercy.

Their pleas are swiftly silenced.

The last one standing makes the mistake of running.

The sight of his back sends Arthur’s mind into a frenzy. It takes nothing to catch up to his fleeing prey. The O'driscoll lets out the sweetest scream as Arthur rams into him.

He takes his time with this one. Most of his limbs are severed before Arthur ends his misery by ripping out his throat.

And then it is done. All that is left is the mutilated bodies of the O'Driscolls, Arthur and the satisfied purr of the beast within.

He hears footsteps on the wind. It’s Dutch, with Charles following at his heels, hurrying down the slope. Arthur’s eyesight allows him to see the fierce pride on Dutch’s face and the naked excitement on Charles’.

He preens.

“ Well done my boy. '' Satisfaction wafts off Dutch in waves as he takes in the massacre. “You did good.”

He reaches out, in the fearless way Arthur loves, and runs a hand across his head.

Arthur lets him. He is not a pet, and Dutch would never dream to treat him as such. It's a show of affection Dutch is allowed, a privilege only he and Hosea (and John at one point) can claim.

“The boys and I will loot the hideout, see if we can find anything worthwhile. And in the meantime.” Dutch’s eyes gleam in a way that makes Arthur’s ears perk up “Pearson says we’re low on rations. Think that something you can handle?”

The fire in his blood reignites. Dutch laughs as he woofs out his agreement

A hunt. A HUNT!

He’s going on a hunt! For his pack.

He tracked his pack. Killed for his pack.

Now he can provide for his pack!

Charles' eyes watch him from behind Dutch, a deep longing on his face. He opens his mouth, takes half a step forward before he catches himself. His face blanks and he steps back. It’s clear what he wanted to say, to ask but he for some reason holds himself back.

Arthur will not let that slide.

There should be no hesitation in the pack.

Charles starts as Arthur latches onto his pant leg gently, pulls, let’s go and then turns towards the woods.

Dutch catches on around the same time Charles does.

“My boy, are you asking Mr. Smith to hunt with you?”

Arthur woofs and paws at the ground impatiently. He would like to but he needs Charles to hurry. There was a pack to feed.

Dutch slaps Charles on the back, grinning broadly.

“Ain't that something. You two make a right pair. A wolf and an expert tracker. Couldn't think of a better match.”

Charles is still processing.

“You would allow me to hunt with you, my friend?”

Arthur tugs at his pants again.

A large smile breaks out across Charles' face, his eyes dancing.

“You do me a great honor, friend.”

Arthur huffs, not caring for the ceremony. It is normal to hunt with the pack. The others just never showed any interest.

Now that he knows Charles is on board, he takes off towards the woods. Charles' footsteps follow close behind, his joy a nice heady scent that adds a hop to Arthur’s gait.

It’s been a while since he had a pack member join him for a hunt. This would be fun.

He catches the scent of deer. 

A buck. Big. Plentiful.

Excitement drums through his body.

The hunt was on.


End file.
